


Not A Lie

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Letters to Santa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Rosie writes to Santa with a very specific Christmas wish, which Sherlock is happy to grant. John has reservations, but Sherlock is convincing. Fluffy Christmas times.





	Not A Lie

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Rosie writes a letter to Santa. John and Sherlock are surprised at what she asks for.

“Papa?”

Sherlock spoke without opening his eyes. “Yes, Rosie.”

“How do you spell fictional?”

“How do you think you spell it?”

“F-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-L.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock hummed a few more bars of his new composition before asking, “What are you writing?”

“Letter to Santa.”

“And you need the word ‘fictional’?”

“Yes.” She paused, eight year old tongue poking out in concentration. “You can read it when I’ve finished.”

“Alright.”

“But first I need some more spelling help.”

Sherlock looked up from his violin. “Which words, honey-bee?”

 

+++

 

_Dear Santa,_

_Although we both know you’re probably fictional, my Papa suggested I write anyway, in case there is a scientific explanation for your global Christmas monopoly._

_Given the restrictions on moving flora and fauna across international borders, it will be difficult for you to bring what either of my Dads want this year. I won’t ask you to bring the bulldog for my Daddy though if you happen to be in contact with Papa, he could probably arrange it. Papa wants space for his experiments, and somewhere for bees. Daddy thinks bees are dangerous but with proper handling the risk is minimal. Please let Daddy know how happy it would make Papa for us to have a colony of our own._

_Aunt Molly says I should be asking you for something for myself. I would rather you make my Daddy and Papa happy instead of bringing me something. I know they love me, and I know they love each other but they never say it. I know how happy it makes both of them when I tell them I love them, and I think it would make them happy to hear it from each other, too. So if you could convince them to tell each other ‘I love you’, that would make me very happy._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Rosamund Mary Watson (Holmes)_

 

+++

 

“John, we need to talk.”

“We do?” John was only half paying attention.

“John, I can see from-”

“I’ve asked you not to do that, Sherlock.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “We need to talk about Rosie’s letter to Santa.”

“Has she written-”

“John!”

“Sherlock-“

“No, how come I am not allowed to deduce you yet you are allowed to act innocent when we both know you have seen her letter and are avoiding discussing it?”

John glared.

“John, we both know she always writes two copies and gives one to each of us to be sure it gets posted.”

“Fine. What did you want to talk about?” John put down his newspaper and looked at Sherlock, arms folded.

“The letter, John.”

“What about it? We are not getting bees, Sherlock.”

“The animals are not the point. Although she does have a point, bees can be held in urban environments without unreasonable risk.”

“Sherlock.”

“John. We cannot continue to talk about every aspect of this letter but one.” Sherlock was patient but insistent.

John ran one hand through his hair. “Fine.” He raised his eyes to Sherlock’s. A little defiant, a little apprehensive. “What do you want to do about it, then?”

Sherlock blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? We tell each other we love each other tomorrow evening while we put up the Christmas tree.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s what Rosie wants. Simple.” Sherlock said.

“Really,” replied John disbelievingly.

“Why should it be so hard? They’re just words, John.” Sherlock’s tone was challenging, his eyes bright with amusement.

“But…” John couldn’t find the words. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Is it a lie if I know you’re not telling the truth?” Sherlock asked.

 _But I will be telling the truth,_ John thought, _and that’s the lie._ “Fine,” he repeated out loud. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Sherlock agreed.

“I’m going to check on Rosie then go to bed.” John said, closing his book.

“She’s fine, John.” Sherlock told him. “Mrs. Hudson is happy her spare room is being used, remember?” John nodded and headed downstairs anyway.

 

+++

“Ready, Daddy?”

“Ready, sugarplum,” John said.

“Ready, Papa?”

“Of course, Rosie,” said Sherlock.

“Papa!”

“Sorry. Ready, Rosie,” said Sherlock obediently.

“Go!” The lights on their tree burst into life as John flicked the switch. Rosie gave a sigh of contentment, gazing at the tree. _“Now_ it’s Christmas,” she said. Eyes bright, she turned to Sherlock. “Love you, Papa.”

“I love you too, Rosie.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Rosie.”

John’s heart pounded. He drew a deep breath and looked at Sherlock. Calm eyes looked back, the old _trust me_ expression melding with a level of amusement.

“Love you, John.” Sherlock’s voice was a baritone rumble.

“Love you too, Sherlock.” The admission hung in the air, Sherlock’s eyes holding John’s for a moment before his look faltered. He coughed and looked at Rosie instead. “Hot chocolate, honey-bee?”

The beaming little girl and lanky detective headed for the kitchen, leaving John to his thoughts. The discontented blogger sat in his chair, staring at the lights. He should be happy, he thought. Sitting in his chair, Christmas tree up, daughter and flatmate in the kitchen brewing hot chocolate. Instead sadness clogged his veins and throat, pressing on his chest for good measure. Abruptly, he stood and marched up to his bedroom, not caring if Sherlock and Rosie could hear. He was slumped on the bed when the knock came. Below the doorknob and not very hard.

“Come in, Rosie.”

The small face looked at him curiously. “What’s the matter, Daddy?”

“Nothing, sugarplum. Just needed a minute to collect my thoughts.”

“Papa and I made hot chocolate,” she said, wide eyes offering the solution to all problems.

“Sounds yummy. I’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

“Okay Daddy. Love you.”

“Love you too, Rosie.”

The door shut and John dropped his head again, the misery flooding over him. The first time shouldn’t have been like that, he thought. It should have been a lot of things, but not a lie. Not unacknowledged for the momentous truth it was.

The knock this time was firmer and higher up.

“What is it, Sherlock?”

“May I come in?” The voice was muffled through the door.

John sighed. There was no point refusing him entry. “Of course.”

Sherlock entered, leaving the door open. “I’ve sent Rosie down to take hot chocolate to Mrs. Hudson.”

“Okay.”

“Are you…are you alright?” The words sounded odd, as though Sherlock had little opportunity to say them.

“Would you believe me if I said I was fine?” John asked.

“No,” replied Sherlock without irony. He remained standing as though John might ask him to leave at any moment.

“Then no, I’m not alright,” said John. It seemed now was the time to have this out. What a way to mark the beginning of the Christmas season, he thought glumly.

“Are you uncomfortable because I pushed you to fulfil Rosie’s Christmas wish?” Sherlock asked.

“No.”

Sherlock frowned. “Don’t you mean, ‘yes’?”

John rolled his eyes. “You said it wasn’t a lie if you knew it wasn’t true.” He checked that Sherlock was following. “Well, it was a lie because it is true.”

Sherlock blinked as he unravelled that idea. “It’s not a lie because it is…John, you love me?”

“Yes.” It was easy to admit, in the end. Especially since he didn’t have to say the words out loud again.

“But…”

“Sexuality is not a tick box form, Sherlock. There are more than two options.” He sighed. “Turns out ‘mostly straight except for one specific bloke’ is less common than you’d think.”

“So…”

“Yes. I was uncomfortable with telling you ‘I love you’ without actually meaning it, because I do actually love you and would rather tell you and mean it.”

“Well why haven’t you, then?” Sherlock asked, confused.

“It’s a bit harder than just saying the words,” John protested.

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Because you don’t love me, you idiot,” blurted John. “Most people would get all weird about their best friend declaring love when they don’t feel the same, and that would make it weird and Rosie and I would have to move out and it would ruin everything.”

Sherlock blinked at him. “Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“What?” John said.

“You haven’t actually had a conversation with me about it. And I’m not most people, if you recall.” He raised his eyebrows, prompting John.

John sighed. His humiliation was to be explicit and ongoing, then. “I love you, Sherlock.”

“Might be nice if there was some actual emotion behind it.”

John rolled his eyes. He stood up, looked deep into Sherlock’s eyes, lifted one hand to Sherlock’s face, stroking his cheekbone with one thumb. A soft smile came over his face. “I love you,” he murmured. Before he could move, Sherlock’s hand covered his. “I love you too, John,” Sherlock replied, pulling John’s hand around so he could press his lips to John’s palm.

“What?” said John, eyes wide. He pulled at his hand, which Sherlock lowered, though he did not let go.

Sherlock shrugged. “You never actually asked me how I felt. Protested your ‘not gay’ stance since the beginning.”

“You turned me down, that first night at Angelo’s!”

“John. In the few hours I had known you before that conversation you had made your ‘not gay’ position very clear on three occasions with an increasing level of frustration at each assumption. I deduced you were making small talk, attempting to put me at ease given your assumption that I was gay while you were not.”

John blinked. “Well I suppose I can understand that.” Hesitantly he curled his fingers around Sherlock’s. With a knowing smile, Sherlock bent his head, brushing his lips over John’s.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”


End file.
